Chapter 16.1: Jinkke the Small

It hadn’t taken Jinkke much effort to convince her krewemates to head back to Rata Sum without her. Just another thirty minutes of work or so, and the other two were finished, packed up, and transmaterializing away from the snow and ice of Lornar’s pass. The traveling party, now having a new member, carried on their way as soon as the two asura left.

The sky was shaded by a dense layer of clouds now, pregnant with fresh snow just waiting to fall. It was amazing how quickly the weather could turn here. Cloud-diffused shadows crept further eastward from the trees and peaks casting them, which told everyone daylight was running out. Recognizing the cost of their unexpected delay at the waypoint, Ventyr picked up the pace, driving them onward toward their night’s destination at Belldron’s Guardholme, the only remaining shelter between them and the Durmand Priory.

In the course of the next few hours of travel, Jinkke held to Minkus’ arm as they walked at the rear of the group, several paces behind the others. In part they were too busy talking to pay attention to their pace, but Minkus was also slowed by an additional stack of his sister’s equipment that he’d strapped atop his own pack. Though burdened and slowed, he was content; the noticeable weight on his back was just reminder of her gentler weight on his arm, the most welcome weight he could imagine.

Midway through a sentence, Jinkke turned away, trying hard to stifle a cough. In all their conversation since the waypoint, she’d hardly coughed at all, certainly much less than she had when first he’d found her. It still brought an unbidden frown to Minkus’ face.

“Jinkke,” he asked, looking down at her, “What did your krewemate mean about you always being sick?”

Jinkke cleared her throat, composing herself and turning back to meet his questioning gaze. “Nothing, Big Brother, it’s really noth— why are you looking at me that way? That’s exactly the way I don’t want you looking at me.”

“Which way?” he asked.

She shook her head and wrapped her arm around his again. “Worriedly,” she said.

For a moment the two walked in silence, Minkus’ attention falling to the snow piling up and sliding off his leather boots with each step. It took him several steps to formulate a response.

“I guess I am worried,” he mumbled, looking at her once more and drawing the arm she held more tightly to his side. “You never used to get sick. I mean, not since you were a baby. And now you’re sick all the time? And—” He stammered for a second, not wanting to speak the thought that followed. “And you lied about it. We don’t— at least we never did—”

“Yes, I know,” she conceded, looking away. “We don’t lie.” Her grip on his arm loosened, and it was her turn to go silent. It was fortunate the road had leveled out some, as neither of them paid any attention to it: Jinkke staring into the trees and Minkus watching her patiently.

She sighed, turning back to meet his waiting eyes. “The condition appears to be the same one I suffered with as an infant, mysteriously returned. It began a two and a half years ago. It isn’t life-threatening at this age, or at least that’s what the alchemists keep insisting; the chronic coughing and regular spells of fatigue are just obtrusive to life and work—interminably obtrusive. They’ve yet to formulate any efficacious elixir, though they’ve repeatedly assured me a cure is around the corner.” She sneered, but it quickly melted into an accepting shrug. “Such is the way of progress: non-linear and near impossible to prognosticate.” She seemed suddenly to remember she was talking to him, and she gripped tighter, leaning into his arm. “But I don’t want you to concern yourself, Big Brother. I appreciate your care, but the best minds are puzzling it out, and I’ve found adequate methods to cope in the meantime. There’s nothing you need to do.”

“But Jinkke—”

“No,” she interrupted, gently patting his arm with her free hand. “Not another word about it. Now continue telling me about the sylvari Grove. I’ve never done much work in botany, but a single tree serving as both birthing chamber and long-term habitation to an entire race is beyond implausible.”

He obliged, once again recalling how majestic the Grove had been, a subtle sadness still resting in the back of his mind. In part he was hurt that she’d tried to it from him, but more so he hurt for the fact that his sister was suffering again, just as he could remember her suffering as a baby. He had been young himself, but old enough to recall her babbling and coughing in her bassinet when she should have been beginning to toddle about their family home.

As he conveyed more of his travel experiences, though, he grinned at how attentively she listened to him. She’d always listened more attentively to him than anyone else. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and rested his head on hers for a moment. He’d never been farther from home, but it had been years since he’d felt so close to it.

The next morning, leaving the guardholme was much harder for Penny than leaving the mining camp had been. She’d spent that previous night wrapped in all her own clothes and waking up shivering whenever a gust of wind lifted the tent flap and rushed in unannounced. Rising and leaving such a sad excuse for a shelter was easy, even welcome. A night beneath a stacks of furs laid beside the hot embers of a dying fire and sheltered from the elements by two feet of norn-hewn timber, however, was a good deal harder to leave.

As she stepped out the door and into the frigid morning, Penny yawned, her tongue lolling briefly out of her mouth. The air was still, and there were now breaks in the clouds overhead, through which they could see the last of the night’s stars before sunrise. “Vent, look, the sun’s not even up. Let’s lay back down for another—”

“We have a difficult stretch today,” he interrupted, stabbing the butt of his staff into the snow on the road. “We’ll need all day if we plan to make it to Refuge Peak tonight.” He pulled his staff back up, assessed the depth of the night’s snowfall, and nodded. “We’re lucky there wasn’t much more snow. The suspended walkway could be even more treacherous under too much of it.”

“Suspended walkway?” Jinkke asked. “Suspended from what? How far does it stretch? What’s it constructed of? And whose design is it?” Her tone was at once curious and distrustful.

Ventyr turned. “From what the lodgekeeper told me, it’s a norn-made walkway suspended along three miles of cliff-face.” The last words arched Penny’s eyebrow.

“Norn-made?” Jinkke mused before Penny could respond. “That could be an acceptable structure, to hold their gargantuan bodies. But, I reserve the right to object until we see its structural integrity for ourselves.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Penny agreed.

Ventyr’s brow dropped to a straight line across his deep-set eyes. He turned away from them to start the journey, lighting the top of his staff ablaze to light his path. It burned but seemed not to consume the wood. “You’re welcome to object,” he said loudly enough for them to hear, “but the alternative is descending into a valley of hostile dredge.” Everyone fell silent, exchanging glances as the sylvari strode off into the ankle-deep snow, not availing himself for any further discussion.

Minkus was the first to move, shrugging at the others and crunching off through the drifts behind their leader. Then Skixx did likewise. Finally, Penny and Jinkke followed suit, exchanging an unsure glance before departing in lazy pursuit of the others.

The road wound out toward the deep gorge to the west and slowly curved southward once more. For a while, everyone traveled in relative silence, spread out a dozen yards apart from each other in the same order in which they’d departed the guardholme. The snow dampened all sounds but those of their walking and breathing, an effect that sent a shiver of discomfort up Penny’s spine.

Over half her life had been spent within the walls of Divinity’s Reach, where it seldom snowed and the wildest of wildlifes was the occasional raccoon scrounging through the garbage. It had taken a while, but over the course of their journey, she’d gotten used to the quieter moments down in the lowlands, when there was little more to hear than a nest of chirping sparrow chicks, a breeze rustling the pines, or the occasional howl of a warg pack in the distance. But here, there was nothing but the crunch of snow beneath their own feet. There was nothing, and that deafening hush was unnerving. Finally it was too much.

She looked down at Jinkke, walking a few steps behind to her right, but as Penny opened her mouth, the asura spoke first. “My brother gave me the electrical device you crafted. It’s— interesting. Rather rudimentary, but it’s an interesting application of basic energy-storage principles.” She nodded approvingly. “Not a bad achievement for a human.”

Penny scowled slightly. “Basic?” she questioned. “Rudimentary? Look, it may not be one of your walking, talking, thinking death-machines, but that little thing has saved my ass more than once.”

“Oh, you mistake me,” Jinkke replied with raised hands. It looked apologetic. “I mean no offense. I’m trying to compliment your human efforts at technology.”

Penny scowled again, shaking her head as she returned her attention to the road. “Great. I’m honored.”

“You should be,” the asura said. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm, though Penny couldn’t help feeling there should have been. “It isn’t all humans who can provide unique cultural technology an asura hasn’t seen before. It truly is noteworthy.” She paused very briefly. “Now your—what did Minkus call it?—your smartpack. That isn’t as impressive. Perhaps your ability to navigate simple golemantics is an unexpected feat for a human, but the application of it? A backpack you can talk to is quite plainly a misappropriation of some of the world’s finest work in magical technology. And it must be heavy. Alchemy, you carry half a golem on your back!”

Penny groaned, regretting her decision to engage the asura in conversation. Walking faster, she  tried to leave Minkus’ sister behind. How did he put up with her?

As she pondered it, Penny became all too aware of the crunch and grind of snow beneath her boots again. There was nothing else. She shook her head, slowing her pace to drop back with Jinkke again.

“So,” Penny began again, letting a sly grin dress her face, “what do they call you, Jinkke the Small?”

Still walking, Jinkke’s gaze slowly rose to meet that of the human, and she scowled. “I’ll have you know, I’m of nearly an average height for a female asura. I understand size is an important measurement for humans, so do you make it a practice to go around insulting others based on the superficial standards of your species?”

Penny smirked. “Now who’s basic?”

The little female glared at her for a moment.

“Oh, ease up. It was just a joke.”

“What was funny about it?” Jinkke asked, still scowling as she crossed her arms and increased her pace, to be beside Penny and not behind her.

“Well, he’s Minkus the Large—” Penny began.

“Stop. Is he still calling himself that?”

“Well, yeah,” Penny replied. “It’s his name, isn’t it?” Minkus had never made total sense to her, but this sister of his didn’t either. If not for Skixx, Penny would have concluded it was just an asuran trait to be confusing. At least Skixx was straightforward.

Jinkke flailed her arms and yelped, “No, it is not his—” She paused, briefly putting a hand to her temple to collect herself. “Do you genuinely think our parents, or any self-respecting parents, would name their progeny Large?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Penny said with a sidelong glance as the two continued to walk. “The more I learn of you little people, the less sense you make.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Jinkke quickly continued. “They wouldn’t. No one would. Physical size is inconsequential. If it were a factor in the success or survival of a race in the least, Primordus would have obliterated asuran life long ago. In fact, the same could be said of humans, norn—anyone. Compared to the immense scale of an elder dragon, we’re all equally insignificant. Ingenuity, intellect, tenacity are things that matter. Not size.”

Penny shook her head. “Sure, whatever. I was just trying to make smalltalk.”

Exchanging a glance again, the two walked a few steps on in silence. It didn’t seem to Penny that socializing was going to work with this one. But as the silence persisted, what Jinkke had said began to settle in, and curiosity got the better of Penny. Without looking down, she gave voice to question on her mind. “So, then, why does your brother call himself Large?”

Jinkke sighed, shaking her head. “I haven’t a clue. I’ve told him to stop, but he doesn’t listen. I have my hypotheses, but none have been substantiated.”

Penny blinked stupidly, feeling the way she’d seen Minkus so often look. “Like I said, less and less sense.”

After a moment or two, Penny’s confusion gave way to frustration. She stopped and turned to Jinkke, bringing her to a stop as well. “Can you stop talking in smart, little circles and just get to the point? You make it sound like he just made up his own name, and if that’s the case, sure it’s weird, but he’s a pretty weird guy. Who gives a drake’s ass why he calls himself Large?”

“I didn’t say he invented the name,” Jinkke corrected, starting to walk on again. “Our parents didn’t name him that, and neither did he. His peers at Dynamics did. As you can well imagine, he wasn’t a noteworthy student. Diligent? Yes. Noteworthy? No.”

Before Penny could even recognize her further confusion, the conversation changed to a contemplative monologue. “No one in the college understood him,” Jinkke continued. “No one wanted to; he didn’t fit into any of their paradigms. They just mocked him behind his back. It was only when they so eloquently nicknamed him Minkus the Large that the troglodytes developed the courage to insult him to his face. He thought it was acceptance. He didn’t understand the mockery.”

Penny frowned. “You’re talking asura-talk again. You do realize he’s on the bigger side, right?”

Jinkke fell out of her reflective trance and returned to a more irritated manner. “Of course I do. The moniker wouldn’t be cruel if it wasn’t logical. Bookah, you don’t understand. I already explained this: size is irrelevant. Tall as a norn or short as a skritt, it makes no difference if you’re intelligent. To say a person is most noteworthy for being uncommonly large is to say there’s nothing of greater value about him—and almost everything is of greater value than physical stature. That’s what they were saying: there is nothing valuable about him. And by extension that’s what he says about himself every time he uses that infernal title.” Jinkke spat the last words with what seemed to be the last of her emotional energy and fell silent, still speeding along to match the pace of the human’s longer strides. “Alchemy. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

For just a moment, Penny looked down at Jinkke again. She thought about the asura’s words. Minkus named himself with an insult? Sure, it was an inane insult, whatever it may have meant to his sister, but the thought started to grate at her. It made no sense, less than most things did with Minkus. Penny scowled but not at Jinkke as much as with her.

She looked back down at the little, brown asura beside her, and unexpected words began to form. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “he thinks the world of you. Bring up anything about childhood or school, and he just yammers on and on about how much his little sister did to get him through it.”

Jinkke crossed her arms, avoiding Penny’s eyes for a moment. “I can not take credit for that. He achieved it on his own.”

“Gods,” Penny groaned, throwing her hands up. “Can I say anything right to you? Here I was even trying to be—”

Some twenty yards farther on, Skixx yelped. “There is no way in the Alchemy I’m taking one step on that thing!” he screeched.

Neither Penny nor Jinkke had really been paying attention to the road since they’d begun talking about Minkus, but now they were both looking intently ahead, for whatever had startled the other asura. They sped up to a light trot and caught up with the others, two of whom stood still at the end of the road. Just beyond their feet, it became what looked like rickety scaffolding suspended from massive iron pikes, easily the size of logs, driven into the side of the cliff. Skixx was pressed firmly against the enormous stone face that now rose from the ground to their left. He was still swearing by the Eternal Alchemy and everything else he could think of. In any other situation, Penny would have mocked him outright, but with the mile-high vertical drop staring at her between the wooden slats of the walkway, she actually couldn’t blame him. Hell, she was almost ready to join him.